


Kismet

by artisttrash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is an artist, Dean is emotionally unstable, Five firsts, M/M, Pining, Purgatory, Slightly AU towards the end, pining!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:16:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisttrash/pseuds/artisttrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five firsts of Dean Winchester the Righteous man and Castiel the Angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kismet

The first time they meet, there are sparks and there is lightning. Dean Winchester’s heart is a humming-birds wing in his chest and Castiel hears it loud and clear.

The meeting of artist and sculpt.

The words running through the angels head do not come close to expressing the joy at seeing his reconstruction of The Righteous man in full work.  The tensing of muscles ready to strike. The pump of heart, the swish of blood, the sliver of green behind squinted eyelids.

Magnificent, he thinks.

The Saved asks who he is.

_“ I am the one that gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”_

His Father would surely frown upon the sheer _pride_ that marks his words. The human deems it necessary to bury the demon knife in his heart. His heart rate triples when it has no effect.

His brethren would find Dean Winchester funny, he thinks. Humanity in general. Small, insignificant, young as a species and infantile in behaviour. Countless times had he listened to his brethren shame humans for what they are, for how Father made them.

To him, they are interesting.

Especially Dean Winchester, currently interrogating him about his friend. Bobby, it seems. After assuring his safety and well-being, Castiel is prepared to talk business.

Dean Winchester, seemingly, is not.

_“I am an angel of the Lord.”_

_“Get the Hell outta here, there’s no such thing.”_

And Dean Winchester, apparently, is in constant need or reassurances. Castiel, in his life as an angel, has never met a man more stubborn or blind to the things of God than Dean Winchester. The man is a walking monument of his Fathers work, yet continually refuses to acknowledge the existence of said Powers.

But still, Castiel was trained for patience, trained for seeking faith in the faithless, so he waits.

-

The first text-message Castiel, now Cas, because Dean seems to love appointing nicknames, sends Dean Winchester is purely business.

The Winchester brothers just finished a particularly disgusting witch hunt ( _“I’m not being a prissy Sammy, there were kid brains involved. Kid brains from still kicking kids!”_), and Dean just took a shower. He’s in a nice, comfy bed, and for once, Sam is out in a bar. 

“Seems the case didn’t leave him cold either.”

Talking to himself is not something he does often, but he’s been doing it more since meeting Cas. God knows why. Maybe he listens, he once thought while cleaning guns.

He dismissed the idea immediately.

Admittedly, he had been thinking about the angel a lot more these days. Cas, while not quite yet a friend, had become a valuable asset in their hunt for non-human things. He had saved Dean’s life a few hunts back, and now managed to protect Sam’s brain from witches and their icky nails.

Slowly but surely he is gaining their trust.

Just as he’s drifting off he feels his phone vibrate, right next to his ear. He groans and thinks of Sam being drunk, and that is something he is not willing to put up with right now. Sam is an emotional and crying drunk, and he usually only drinks on Jess’ anniversary. And Dean is currently so not ready for dealing with a snotty and drooling Sam.

He thanks the Gods for small favours.

And then curses them when he reads the message.

_One of the witches is still alive. I require your assistance. I will arrive in five minutes._

His life is a fucking carousel of happiness, isn’t it.

From then on, his SMS-life is in an upwards-spiral. As his and Cas’ friendship grows, so does the message count on his phone. Cas starts sending him pictures of old people and dogs and bees and _Jesus Christ is that Earth_ and he has never been happier. They talk about small things, like how Dean ate 3 slices of pie for breakfast and couldn’t move for an hour or how Cas hit a duck while stretching his wings in the sky.

Sam often tells him they’re like a married couple.

Dean’s heart skips a beat and he sends Sam the nastiest glare he can manage.

-

The first time they hug, back in Purgatory, Dean Winchester feels the drum of Castiel's heart against his own, and he is relieved. He is happy. _He is in love_.

The last thought settles in his chest, right next to the heartbeat belonging to the creature in his arms. For a moment, he lets himself feel. Lets himself think, he lets himself wish.

Feel the roughness of the trench-coat, the lapels hard with dirt and blood and guts. Feel the scratch of Cas’ beard against his stubble, his skin. Feel the breath that leaves Cas’ body when he hugs him. Feel the heartbeat, the rise and fall of a solid chest, the flutter of eyelashes against his ear.

He lets himself sink in the feelings of _solid_ and _in my arms._

He lets himself think.

Think of the monsters he slayed, of the blood he spilled, of the words he heard in his head at the entrance to the clearing in which he found his angel.

_“Thank God.”_

The human mind is a terrifying thing, Bobby once told him _. If given enough stimuli, things happen no one wants happening, so watch what you let get to you._

He let the angel in, and now he is addicted. And an addict does everything to get their  fix.

He thinks of the looks the vampire accompanying him has been shooting him ever since they met. The wariness in his pupils every time he saw Dean take apart another monster in the search of his angel. The fear. The sheer _respect_.

It felt good. He felt high.

Dean Winchester had blossomed in the harsh world that is Monster haven. And, Dean not knowing, Castiel felt it.

In Dean’s head, thinking of the future is on the same page as wishing, in some aspects. Of course, when he thought of Lucifer bringing the Apocalypse upon Earth, he didn’t wish for it, but some part, a small, treacherous part of him wished for an end. He had been tired. But he fought on, for the sake of his brother, and for the sake of the angel giving up everything for them.

Now, standing in monster-land, with his angel at his side and a brother by bond at his back, he feels invincible. And humanity thrives on the feeling of invincibility. It makes you foolish, irrational.

So Dean Winchester wished, he thought of the future while basking in success.

He thought of coming home, to his brother, to his life. He wishes for a better future, a better life where nothing is pressing on their conscience, or their will to fight. He wishes for his brother to find love, to lead a happy apple pie life. He wants to be an uncle.

And he wants Cas to be an uncle with him. And that is the most terrifying wish Dean Winchester has.

He is irrevocably in love with the blue eyed angel. The thought of falling asleep staring into lightening blues sends his heart into an erratic beat and makes his body heat. His toes tingle and his eyes tear up when he thinks, _wishes_ , for lazy mornings full of pancakes and kisses and slow evenings with Star Trek and outdated movies.

_He hopes._

In the end, Bobby was right.

The angel he desperately wanted at his side, the angel he fought countless monsters for, the angel he _loves,_ chooses monster-land over him. He chooses a life of fear and running over love with Dean Winchester, and isn’t that a beautiful thought.

When he gets back to their world, he bids Benny goodbye with a shattered heart and heavy bones. Seeing Sam brings him joy, learning the truth sends him into a frenzy of alcohol and sleep.

He cannot look at women anymore. Their eyes are not blue, their hair not chocolate brown. He is a shell, he breathes, he eats, but he lacks feeling.

His heart throbs painfully in his belly when he wakes from a dream so painfully unreal he has to go and vomit.

He always made fun of heart-broken people, saying it’s stupid to even be that emotionally attached to someone. He regrets it now. Sam tells him he’s pining. Dean has no will to retort, to deny what is sadly the truth.

Dean Winchester is broken.

_There will be no other. Should you break I will have no cover._

-

The first time they kiss, Dean Winchester sheds tears.

The angels are gone, as are demons. The world is free of anything supernatural. It’s refreshing to know that, when he wakes up tomorrow, there will be no urgent demon hunt or ghoul sighting they need to take care of. But still.

Sam Winchester is recuperating.

Castiel is gone.

Dean Winchester is flaking away.

Between caring for his brother, who is still puking his guts out every morning and walking around like death warmed over, and being heartbroken, he has no time for himself. Psychologically, he is on the brink of exhaustion. The only thing giving him strength is the tremble of his angel’s arms as he hugged him and bid farewell.

_He was afraid. He didn’t want to go._

But still, it doesn’t change the fact that the love of his life, the one no one can replace, left him. The gaping hole in his chest is hurting, bleeding invisible red every time he thinks of his wishes, his feelings in Purgatory.

He stopped thinking about himself being a girl, and acting like one. There’s no use. The first night, he cried in his room, laying alone on a bed that was, from the beginning, intended for two. Staring at the empty bedside table meant to contain the things of the second body warming his bed.

Oddly, he got used to something he never had. And now it’s gone.

Now, half a year later, with Sam working a steady job and going out on dates, he’s standing alone in the kitchen. It’s three AM. and he’s drinking hot chocolate, waiting for _something._

He’s disappointed once again. The foolish hope he holds for his angel coming for him _, to him_ , disappears just like that. The small part of him that hoped, had been hoping all this time, dies a slow and agonizing death.

“I’m done with this shit.”

The words are resolute, a trade-mark Winchester tone that says, with finality, that it’s over. The gaping hole in his chest won’t be filled for the rest of his life, but he is prepared to live with it. His angel has forgotten about him, probably consumed in heavenly duty and other things Dean wouldn’t hope to understand. His love was never reciprocated. And it never will be.

And now he sees how stupid he had been.

How could a lowly human ever hope to be loved by a being as majestic and all-encompassing as an angel. Sure, 90% of angels were dicks, but Castiel stood apart from them. He had pride, he had will, he had soul. And that soul made Dean Winchester fall. Stupidly.

The hot chocolate sloshes on his hand as he slowly slides down to the floor. He’ll allow himself this final breakdown, crying for the love he lost, for the heart he gave to an angel who never saw him in the same light.  He envies Sam, who found love with a nice girl from the pet-shop, all warm smiles and easy words. He wishes, sometimes, that he had never met Castiel. He could lead a normal life, maybe fall in love, start a family. But no, of course not. His heart went out to an angel who sees him as a brother-in-arms rather than a lover. A brother.

He stands, wipes the tears and moves to put away the cup of cold chocolate. The refrigerator clock shows 3.34. Outside, thunder rolls. Water drips into the sink. His leg cramps, and someone knocks on the door.

He considers taking a gun with him when he passes the living room, but then he remembers that there are no more demons. He squashes down the sadness that wells up inside.

The stairs seem long and large, slowly spiralling up to the door. Outside, he can hear rain beating against the dry ground. He contemplates starting a garden, because Sam is still a health freak and BIO vegetables cost as much as a small car. When he arrives at the door, he stands a few minutes, going through moves in his head if someone attacks him.

What he gets when he opens the door sends his thoughts into disarray and his heart into an overdrive. His knees feel weak, his breath is laboured and tears well up in his eyes, restricting his vision, turning wet hair and pale eyes into blobs of dark brown and blue, melting together.

_“Cas.”_

The man is soaked to the bone and looks tired, dressed in torn clothes with has a weary tilt to his head, but he is beautiful. Electric eyes, bronzed skin, chocolate hair. He smiles a tired smile, and Dean Winchester cries. The tears running down his cheeks are thick and endless, streaming down in quiet rivulets. His angel came back, whole and healthy, if a little bit tired, and he pulls him into an embrace. The feeling of solid muscle, of a body that his remembers embarrassingly well, makes him almost howl in happiness. Their bodies meld together, their edges smoothing out against each other, and he gets the feeling that that is what humans are made for. Castiel winds his arms around his torso, turns his head against Dean neck and laughs. He sniffs and laughs and they stand there like a couple of idiots but they’re together, and that’s what matters.

When Dean’s cramping leg goes down, it takes them both with it. Dean sits on his ass and Cas kneels in front of him, brilliant and vibrant and _there._ The moment their lips meet, it’s electric. Dean’s hands are in Cas’ hair and Dean’s lips are moving against Cas’ and Dean feels alive.

His stomach drops out when he notices Cas’ being still as a rock. A cold shiver runs all the way from his tailbone to his neck, making him jerk back and stare at Cas with questioning eyes. Cas is vibrating with tension, coiled as tight as a spring, looking as if he’s about to flee. The hard beating in his ribcage tunes out everything else as he slowly releases Cas’ neck. His throat is closing up, his eyes are tearing and he can’t breathe. His feet are numb from sitting on the cold pavement. Somehow he makes it to his feet, and steps away from a still kneeling Castiel, feeling numb from head to toe.

_“I got him back. He’s alive, he’s with me, and I fuck it up.”_

Just as he’s turning around to invite Cas in, the angel grabs his elbow and brings his face close to his. He tangles his hands in Dean’s hair, turns his head into his neck and breathes in like his life depends on it. Dean stands stock still, waiting, shivering, letting Cas have his pace. When his angel looks up and joins their lips, he breaks down.

_“I need you too.”_

_-_

The first time they fall together into a bed is not what Dean Winchester imagined.

Castiel is human, he learns the night Castiel comes home. He fell, for the love he held for one man was too strong to be contained. That night, they fall into his bed, freshly showered, with Cas wearing his T-shirt and boxers. His room is light and warm, his bed is soft and fresh, and the man in his arms smells of his shampoo. A possessive thrill runs through his body, and his arms tighten around Cas.

Countless times had he imagined the night he and his angel would sleep together in one bed. The first time they would make love, slow and easy, with Cas above Dean. They’d move in a rhythm, a song made for them only and it would be glorious.

He never thought just holding each other would be this freeing.

The first time they are in bed together, clothes stay on. They hold each other, with Cas’ head against Dean’s neck, shy kisses marking the sensible skin.  Dean has his nose in Cas’ hair, his lips against Cas’ forehead. They hold each other through the night, a tangle of limbs and blankets. When morning comes, Dean wakes up to soft cornflower blues watching him, long fingers stroking his cheek, legs tangling in his.

_“Home.”_

 


End file.
